The Space Between her Lungs
by A-m-n-e-x-ia
Summary: "If you live among wolves, you have to act like one." Hermione had never taken that quote seriously, well until now.
1. Chapter 1

_**Authors Note:**_

Things are going to be different in this story, it is indeed billmione, and there will be some Ron bashing. There have been some altered deaths, and some who were originally killed off will be alive and other characters will be dead. Again, this is my story and the way I choose to write. It is m for a reason. In this, Bill will be fully werewolf, however it's going to be different. Not ugly, and not as taxing as it is for Remus. This will be explained later.

JK Rowling owns all characters associated with fanfiction.I take no claim to any of its charactersor the happenings in the books that are mentioned

However, this is my story, and I do claim some of the scenarios that happen within it

Again, not Rowling, and I don't wish to be.

...

_Even a man who is pure in heart_

_and says his prayers at night_

_may become a wolf _

_when the wolfsbane blooms_

_and the autumn moon is bright_

_..._

There was not one thing Hermione didn't know at least a little bit of information about, not one single thing. She prided herself upon her knowledge and the fact she was considered the 'brightest witch of her age', it was a grandiose achievement that not many muggle-borns could say they had. She had survived the war, sustained injuries that didn't fade, had mudblood dug into her skin, and though it had long since faded, dying as the one given it had, she still felt its sting. She still felt it there, just beneath the skin as a constant reminder. Hermione Jean Granger, the brightest witch of her age, was a survivor. A survivor who knew how to survive and avoid death.

However the image she'd been graced with was far from the deathly gruesome vision of war, in fact many found what she was witnessing to be a good source of entertainment, or a source to spice of the marriage. And that would have been so, had the pair tangled in a mess of sheets, _her bed sheets_, and limbs, not been her fiance and a woman that was not her. No this was no image that brought pleasure, it was one that caused rage, a rage that bubbled beneath her skin and hissed like that of a kettle full of tea. This was the rage caused by _betrayal_, swift and painful. And the pair hadn't even halted in their love making for an instant to recognize her presence.

"_**RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY**_!" all movement stopped, the huffing moans, the slap of skin, everything halted instantly and a tension you could hear filled the room. There was no movement from her future husband, as if he were reluctant to pull from the woman he had until recently been pounding, and it made Hermione's skin crawl. _How dare he_? When she had all but been forced to agree to moving their marriage up a month, and now it was only a week away. How dare he do this, to her, his best friend, the woman he'd fought a war with?! The fates must have been playing some sick, demented joke on her. "_**What. Are. You. DOING**_?" it was rhetorical of course, she knew about sex, and knew as well the results that came from it if not accurately protected. Reluctantly, and rather stiffly, Ron turned and met the gaze of the rather frazzled Hermione. As if the man failed to grasp the severity of his actions, he offered her his usual, dopey smile. The smile she'd loved, the smile that now burned insult to her skin.

"H-hermione!" an awkward laugh was offered as he glanced between her and the woman beneath him, the woman Hermione instantly recognized as Lavender Brown. Yes, fate was indeed playing a cruel joke on Ms. Granger, for no one should have to bear witness to the sultry look of satisfaction that crossed over the opposing witch's features. This was a victory to her, payback from that time when it had been Hermione's name uttered off the unconscious weasel's lips. Was this karma? Had Hermione done wrong then for being with her friend? Her then best friend? Surely not. It made no sense and she would not dwell on it, that was the past and she was very much in a wicked present. "F-fancy seeing you-uh-here." he was still smiling, even as he clammered up, pillow covering his junk. The tension spiked, and a silence so loud it sounded like static filled the room as Hermione gazed unmoving at the pair. At some point she'd gone for her wand, and Lavender and Ron both mad noises of fear. Her knuckles were white, as was the rest of her. "Hermione-uh-you should probably leave."

"_I should leave_?" it was a good thing her wand was sturdy, it would have been sad had it would have snapped. Though buying a replacement wasn't to much of an issue, it would have been a ridiculously tedious thing to do, what with her job and all. It was just so absurd that he would have the nerve to tell her _she _should leave. She had paid for the goddamned flat to begin with. "This is _my _flat to Ronald Weasley! I paid for it!" she watched her fiance-or well, ex fiance, roll his eyes.

"Why're you always the one to cause a scene, 'Mione?" he commented, gathering up his pants. "You can never just let things go-"

Ronald Weasley did not get to finish his sentence, for before he could utter a word he was choking on a slug.

...

Humiliation, was a hard pill to swallow. To be booted from her own home, mere weeks from her wedding, finding her husband-to-be cheating, it was a wonder Hermione didn't flee to the muggle world in attempt to get away from the burn of it all. It wouldn't have made anything any better, in fact it would have prolonged it, with the prying memory of family lost. She hadn't left easily, to her credit. She'd hexed both occupants of the bed that was her's until they were both choking on slugs. Though, as she looked back on it, that was a rather childish choice. She should have picked a darker one, even if it would have went against her judgement. After all he was…._gishmoogling_ that strumpet in her bed.

So now she stood, out in the rain, gazing at the Leaky Cauldron as if unsure whether or not to go in. Hermione registered rather dully that their were indeed eyes on her, ones from within the confines of the nearby buildings wondering why she didn't simply enter the Cauldron. If they recognized her, they'd probably wonder why the female of the ever famous 'golden trio' stood outside in the pouring rain staring as if she were lost. Truly, deeply, lost. The truth was, the memories the Cauldron held, though all good, all involved Ron, and Ron was not someone she fancied thinking of at the moment. Not when her heart felt as if it'd been hit with a freezing curse.

It just didn't seem fair, not when he'd been the one pushing, prodding, begging for marriage. He'd been the one who wanted to get married so soon after the war had ended, he'd been the one who wished and begged for her to put aside her studies for marriage and _him_. Her decision to wait until marriage to give herself to him was not a bad one, as it turned out, for the fact that had she would have it would have it would have been wasted. She did not want her first time to be a waste. Hermione wanted special, romantic, and well, _fun_. Or as fun as losing your virginity could be, she supposed. She'd heard the tales of horror, read enough muggle fiction about it to know, and her friends had never spared a detail. So maybe it was prudish of her to not want to give herself to just anyone, the man she gave herself to should be special.

_She had thought the special one was Ron_. Oh how sickeningly wrong he'd proved her. The whole time she'd been balancing her job and wedding planning with Ginny and Molly he'd been sleeping with none other than Lavender Brown, and in their shared flat no less. He could have at least had the decency to keep his relations with her at work, or at her home, or-or _nonexistent_. The latter would have been greatly preferred because being cheated on 3 weeks from your wedding date really **sucked**.

"'Mione?" she cringed. It would be her luck for someone who knew her well enough to call her by her private nickname for the boys would discover her standing out in the deluge that was coming down upon her. She was going to have to restrict that name, after all all it did was remind her of that pig she'd been engaged to, and she'd never liked it much to begin with anyway. "Are you- alright?" she chanced a glance, peripheral vision catching a glimpse of red and her heart did a dive. The last thing she had needed was for it to be one of the Weasleys. This was clearly not her day, and if the sneeze she let out was any inclination it was going to turn worse by the minute.

"_**Hermione**_." Hermione slowly turned her gaze towards the voice, taking in the appearance of an equally as drenched Bill Weasley. They had never known each other well, and the few conversations they had ever engaged in were more like heated debates about Egypt and other magical things when she was much younger. During the war she'd attended his wedding, and during school, she'd met his bride with a tinge of jealousy with how flawless the Veela seemed. There had never been real time for real conversation with Bill during the war. Whenever Hermione had ever seen him, his bride was practically glued to his side, and Hermione had never wanted to impose on their privacy. It was just her way.

Now, however, Bill was not with Fleur. He was inching closer to her and looking very concerned for who he still knew to be his brother's bride to be. That was going to be another wicked pill to swallow, when she'd have to inform the whole damned Weasley bunch (if they didn't already know) that their wedding was off. _Bugger_.

"B-bill?" her teeth had picked up chattering at some point, though she wasn't exactly sure when. Now that the thought grazed Hermione's processors, she was really, really cold. Her form wobbled down to her knees, and her hands could barely hold her bag in front of her with all the shivering she was doing. She was most _definitely _getting sick after this. "What're-what are you d-doing here, shouldn't you be with Fleur?" Hermione wasn't sure, because water continued to find its way into her eyes, but she could have sworn she saw the man before her cringe, face contorting into an expression of utter dismay. It was there only for a moment, and the confused look of worriment took its place again. _Odd_.

"She and I are…" he trailed off, casting his gaze downward to a particular puddle that reflected his mauled features. His facial expression became pained, and he turned three shades paler than normal. Hermione didn't push. She was not in any particular place to pass judgement, or drill the man with questions concerning his relationship when her's was the way it was. She wouldn't deny being curious though, because by the looks he was casting his own reflection in various puddles things weren't sunny and bright for him either. He was soon looking at her again however, and his expression was back to one of almost brotherly worry.

"Hermione…what are _you _doing out here, In this storm?" her face fell back into its mask almost instantly, and she felt the tears rising up against her eyes as she blinked rapidly. Hermione directed her gaze back to the front of the Leaky Cauldron, trying not to look directly at the eldest Weasley for fear he might notice. If he did notice, he didn't let on, and instead changed the subject rather quickly. "Nevermind, let's get inside before you freeze to death." she nodded, fumbling along beside him into the Cauldron.

...

The silence was instant. Hermione had figured it would have been, what with the fact the Weasley to be was not her ex fiance. If Rita Skeeter were anywhere around, she was surely to writing down what she'd witnessed for the daily prophet, which would make her situation that much worse. Hermione's shivering skin began to crawl as she noted the many eyes that peered at her from around the room, all wondering the same thing.

_Why was she with Bill Weasley._

She could assure them all it was none of their business, not that anything was happening. They both looked an absolute mess. Hermione had nearly forgotten about bills coat being draped over her shoulders, even as she held it in a white-knuckled grip. That would definitely give everyone something to talk about, the future Mrs. Weasley sneaking around with her fiance's brother. It was bollocks. Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.

"Two rooms please." Hermione didn't look up, feeling the gaze of the man Bill had addressed upon her bowed head as she stared at her mud drenched heels. It wasn't as if the male was important, in fact no one in the room was important. They were all about as irrelevant as the puddles gathering on the ground outside.

"Yes, thank you sir." they were moving again, she noticed dully. She was stumbling over her feet up the stairs, nearly falling a couple of times as if she were drunk. It was funny how much finding Ron cheating had affected her, she'd always been so strong. Maybe that was why the seams had seemingly busted, leaving her a mess of a woman who was cold. Not just physically either, it seemed as if her world had been frozen to its core.

There was a click, and Hermione felt herself being all but hoisted into the room she supposed was the one he'd gotten for her. She slipped along behind him in the work heels that had successfully rubbed blisters along her heels and toes, pinching pain shooting to nerve endings as she moved. She wanted to sit down, or more accurately, fall down. Just fall to the floor somewhere and not regain her footing for a while, shut the world out. Bill skillfully maneuvered her towards the bed, and disentangling herself from him, she moved ungracefully towards it without a word. She stopped before it, staring blankly at the bed that probably wasn't as comfortable as the one at her flat, and without another word to the man behind her, she fell upon it with a sob.

_Just let me fade away._

_..._

_**AUTHORS END NOTE.**_

_So this is the start, sorry for it being ridiculously long, I got carried away. I make no promise for them all being like this, because after a while I start doubting my writing. I don't have a beta, and I don't really plan on getting one. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is fine, though I can't promise I'll care to listen as I am purely writing this for fun. There wasn't enough Bill/Hermione and I can't stand Fleur at all, sorry. So here you go, leave a comment and tell me what you think._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Authors Note**_

_So I'm going to set an update time for every friday if possible. I'm not going to make any promises because I do indeed have a life that can sometimes pull me away for a couple of months. It's chill though, I have plans to get this shit done._

_Again I don't own diddly shit except the plot_

_enjoy._

…..

_But what, dear Red, if the wolf was not to eat you?_

_What if he were to instead,_

_Make a deal that required a simple 'yes' or 'no'?_

_Would you take that deal, little Red?_

_Would you take that deal_

_with the big bad wolf?_

…..

Things had started out great in Bill Weasley's marriage. There had been no complaints, no fuss, nothing but love. Everything was going absolutely swimmingly. The full moons would roll around, Fleur would give him his space, he'd run deep into the forest, shifting into the beast he'd been forced into, and come back the next morning feeling alive and happy. It had all been going so well in fact, he'd forgotten about something Remus had warned him about early on. After all who dwells on things that probably aren't ever going to happen? Certainly not William Arthur Weasley. Call it an effect of the wolf blood in him, but there was only the present that mattered to him, not the past or so much the future. While he did plan on having children (an urge almost primal due to his added wolfish qualities), the future was not much of a worry to him. He'd been living in the present with his lovely wife, and everything was just fine.

Until, the night it seemed the thing Remus had warned him of, the thing he'd forgotten, had come true. The primal needs of a werewolf were far from that of ordinary wizard. Though they didn't have as many needs, the few they had were very important, and in the cases of those who were considered alphas, were not to be ignored. Going into his marriage he'd warned Fleur, told her straight that some things he simply couldn't control, like the urge to feed and ultimately breed. Fleur, though she was very intelligent, did not seem to heed his warning very much attention. For some reason, the Veela had felt as if he would be the same man he'd always been, that he had never been 'bitten' in a sense. He was just regular old Bill Weasley, the super cool eldest Weasley. That had been her mistake.

Upon the eve of the full moon, his usual attitude change occurred, only it was accompanied by the hungering urge to _claim _the woman he'd been married to. Marriage, Bill soon came to find, was simply a bullshit legal term that could be terminated whenever one party found it necessary. What Bill had intended to do with Fleur on the full moon, was far greater than that of wizarding marriage laws, for it was nature. Primal, untamable, nature. He should of known Fleur was not the type to agree to submitting to his primal nature.

Fleur was, to put it simply, submissive. Dainty like a faerie and sweet like honey. These things, did not go with Bill's new and improved self. Bill found out rather quickly that he was an alpha, from the one time he'd seen Remus shifted, he'd noticed startling differences between his form and Remus's. While Remus looked like a sphinx cat that had been drug through mud and water, and then strung up by his toes, Bill was...different. He stood at a massive 8 foot tall, covered in red fur that glistened into the night shimmering with the moon. His features were undoubtedly lupine, and the ears stood pointed on his head like a doberman's. His long red hair turned into that of a red mane cascading down his shifted form's back, and sooner than later he found he and Remus simply could not continue their hunts together. He was afraid, that he'd hurt the old man. Regardless of mortal connections the beast within found only one thing important, and that was domination.

Soon, Bill found himself locked in solitude on the nights the moon was full, and more recently the nights leading up to it. It seemed, that the simple fact of not having some form of a mate or pack to run with him infuriated the inner wolf, and his sexual urges upon returning to the cottage the next day were growing to be outrageous. He'd come home, and of course, find aid in his wife, but soon he was growing to be increasingly too much for her. He found it harder to control his urges, and eventually Fleur began to accuse him of being a savage. She just didn't understand.

Eventually Bill grew tired of it, so tired that his mood for an entire month resembled that of how it was for the three days around the full moon. Chalk it up to him having a severe case of blue balls and the fact his wife would not allow him to touch her. She'd scream and wail, crying out when even the slightest touch was offered that offended her in any way. Fleur would fling herself up to the room and slam the door and for the rest of the night Bill sensitive ears were subject to her wailing torture.

He'd been so caught up in all of the drama with Fleur, he'd lost track of when the moon was actually going to be full, and it had ended badly for both of them.

It had rolled up upon him like the tide, Fleur yapping in his ear, begging, whining, and wailing at him to change. He'd kept his cool for the most part, but as their argument transgressed it ended up with her cornering him, and he was so caught up with trying to get away with her the shift him him like a storm. He'd grown to his full height, tearing away that pasty, hot, pale skin of his to adorn his usual red pelt. In their small guest bathroom no less. His senses had been clouded, and the only thing that registered in his mind was the prominent smell of Fleur's _fear_. Fear, in itself, disgusted Bill beyond all reasonable doubt. While he was a regular old wizard, fear had been something he could understand, but he was no longer _regular._ Canine creatures, from what Bill could gather of the magical ones, did not enjoy fear. It made them randy, and the need to hump (or dominate) whatever showed fear was extreme. Bill found as a werewolf, he was no different.

Bill still congratulated himself on not killing Fleur, no matter how shallow that may have sounded. He'd come deathly close to ruining her pretty features for life, and as soon as he'd broke down the door of the cottage and peeled out of there with the torn remnants of her skirt in his teeth she'd fled back to france. He was glad. Bill had loved Fleur more than anyone before, but that did not mean they were good for one another. He wasn't even fully sure Veela and wolf blood could mix, and if it turned out they couldn't it would have ended with one of the parties getting hurt emotionally anyway. It was good she'd left, though sad, Bill couldn't deny he wasn't relieved. He needed someone who could keep up with him physically. Someone who'd go on midnight runs beneath the full moon regardless if she were a werewolf or not. He needed someone who would let him do the things his inner beast pleaded for him to do.

Bill needed to be wild, and he needed for whoever he chose to be his to understand that. It was only necessary.

…..

Now, in the present, nothing could have prepared him for the image he'd bore witness to. It was almost surreal, seeing Granger standing out in the pouring cold rain, seemingly lost in her own little world. It had worried him, for wasn't this the brightest witch of her age? The witch his brother had been pushing to marry as soon as the dust of war settled? What could she possibly be doing standing in front of the Leaky Cauldron just asking to get some sort of sickness from the god awful downpour. Her reaction to him had been unusual, and the fact she looked as though someone had broke her in half left him feeling uneasy. What could possibly be going on? Bill had not asked of course, just gotten her inside and purchased the two rooms in attempt to get the soaked woman into the warmth, before she became a frozen statue.

Though they didn't speak much on their lovers, he could tell something had definitely happened between her and Ron, in fact he could almost feel it within the marrow of his bones. It made him nervous. He was the last person on earth that wanted to deal with a bitching Ronald Weasley, the last person who wanted to get shoved in the middle in whatever the hell was going on with Hermione and his brother. He could only pray to whatever powers that be that Rita Skeeter had not been one of the many to see him practically dragging the broken witch to her room. He also prayed that he didn't regret tugging the witch out of her soaking wet clothes. While it occurred to him he could cast a drying charm, but some part of him shrugged that notion off and continued to aid the woman. Hermione was not unconscious, but he definitely wouldn't have called the girl conscious either. She continued to move groggily as he helped her, still not meeting his gaze as they worked.

When he finally did get her to look at him, he'd regretted it almost instantly.

Hermione Granger did not add up to the stories he'd heard of her, or the girl he'd seen valiantly charging into battle against he-who-must-not-be-named, and though he'd never paid her much attention on the account of Fleur being the then love of his life, he'd still known her to do great things. This Hermione looked hollow, and broken. Like her world had caved in around her, like she'd lost something, or…._someone_.

"Hermione?" their eyes locked, and he wondered vaguely if she'd take some sort of potion to get high before he'd unintentionally stumbled upon her. Her eyes, they were so-vacant. So empty. Bill gulped, tilting the woman's head up with his finger to gain a better look. There wasn't anything on the surface that appeared long term, but that wasn't to say she still didn't look utterly out of it. "Can you tell me if you've taken anything?" she blinked slowly, looking at him with a furrowed brow.

"No." it was barely above a whisper, and Bill thanked the Merlin for his enhanced hearing, otherwise he'd be asking her to repeat, and she didn't seem able. She fidgeted under his gaze, eyes shifting around the room now. At least now she was somewhat responsive and not completely void of everything. "No, I've not taken anything." he watched as she pointed her gaze down at her lap, breaking eye contact with him again.

"Al'ight then...well..could you explain what is wrong then?" she glanced back up at him, eyes returning to their state of vacancy. Her eyes fell to her lap once more and she was silent, almost deathly so. It made Bill nervous, he wouldn't admit it but the dead quiet made him twitchy. Call it PTSD or whatever you wanted, it didn't matter to him. "Please 'Mione?" he'd heard Harry and Ron use the nickname, so he figured it'd get _some _answers from her. He was wrong.

"Don't call me that." he flinched at her tone, mumbling an apology under his breath as he glanced at her knees, trying to shield the pink that flushed his cheeks. "Ron calls me that, and I can assure you, that the last thing I want right now is to be reminded of Ron." Bill's ears pricked in curiosity. Why wouldn't she wish to be reminded of the man she was soon to be wed?

"How am I supposed to tell the family?" tell them what? Merlin how he wished she'd spit out a straightforward answer. Yes, she seemed to be angry at Ron, but couples fought all the time. Sometimes even fights like this could be repaired. So what was she supposed to tell the family? What was so bad that her and his notoriously thick-skulled brother couldn't somehow work out? After all she'd put up with his bullshit this long, it seemed the woman would almost be the only one to manage the idiot. "Yes, hi everyone Ron and I aren't getting married anymore because he's been fondling Lavender Brown behind my back." she let out a noise and flung herself upwards, successfully knocking bill on his arse as she did so.

He looked up her as she continued her tirade around the room, ranting and raving about his younger brother with the ferocity of a scolding Mcgonagall. She was quite the sight, all worked up and flustered. He realized rather casually that Hermione wasn't wearing any clothes. Yes she had on her lingerie, but that wasn't exactly something you tended to want your ex future brother in law seeing you in. He wouldn't deny how nice her knickers made her round rear look, it was sinful but he never claimed to be a saint. Had it always had that slight jiggle when she walked? Had he just never noticed? Maybe Fleur's Veela appeal truly had blinded the old wolf.

"Bill…?" he blinked, looking up at the woman who'd halted her ranting. He surely hoped she hadn't noticed his silent admiration of her ass, because it wasn't exactly polite to stare at a woman's derriere while she was going off about her ex fiance that just so happened to be his brother.

"Hmm?"

"I'm in my unders."

"That you are."

"Bill?"

"Yes?"

"Get out."

…..

_**Authors endnote:**_

_The regular update times should be anything by Friday, I'll probably end up updating much sooner than that as I'm really pumping these out, but regardless I hope you all enjoy. Stay tuned for the next chapter!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Authors Note:**_

Back again for another round of TSBHL. I'm going to explain some things relating to the new cover photo and the werewolves in this story. Starting with the wolves, all of them are different. I've chosen as reference to use the styles of the ones from the movie Van Helsing (for bill) and the Lycans from Underworld. The way I see it is all of them are different and dynamic, which is why I kept Remus looking like the poor little washed up rat that his wolf looks like (sorry remmy). That being mentioned there are also 'alphas' and 'omegas'. Alphas the more powerful, bigger, badder. Omegas the weaker and more submissive. This story is intended to delve deep into the world of lycanthropy within Harry Potter, of course, since only a few things were mentioned, I'll be using most of my own preferences. No worries, I'll make sure you all enjoy the ride. I should post the fourth chapter later this week, once it is revamped and edited. I find I should mention again, that some of the deaths are different. I haven't killed a lot of people off that died (namely because they were characters I loved and this is my story) I've seen this done before and it shouldn't be a problem. R/R

…..

_They say back in the days of old, those who desired power recited sacrificial rituals_

_where the heart and blood of a wolf was consumed_

_in order to achieve a might unlike that of any ordinary wizard or witch._

_However, things began to get out of hand, and an outbreak of uncontrollable rage shook the world of magic._

_Long has this tale been forgotten, all written documents considered highly classified or instinct,_

_and these creatures whose might and power came from the moon_

_long since shunned._

…..

_Soft hands ran their course through thick peltage, a different experience than what the beast was used to. His entire existence was something most feared, for the fact it seemed almost uncontrollable depending on the moon. He didn't blame them, he was a creature of the night, always unpredictable. However this one, never revealed whether or not she was afraid of him. In fact, the chocolate gaze reflected curiosity, and the need to understand._

_He let out a puff of air, fan of mist ghosting against her heart-shaped face, warming her flushed cheeks. The night air was cool and crisp, certainly not a night the little witch should be parading through the snow covered woods in the nude. There was a flicker in her eyes, a message that the beast he'd become didn't understand. Though the creature had animalistic smarts, emotions other than what were natural were hard for him to define._

_Her fingers stopped at his lupine cheeks, tightening her grip on tufts of the fur there as she pulled, ever so lightly, tugging him closer. This was new, he couldn't recall the other female wanting him __close__. Then again, she had smelled like fish, not vanilla, and was so irrelevant she may as well have been a flea on his arse. There was another tug, and he barred long fangs in a mock smile, though it probably looked more like a snarl. His golden monochrome gaze still upon her as she pursed her lips in thought. "Beautiful."_

…..

It was highly unusual for Bill to forget his sleep potion. It was even more unusual for him to dream of himself as the thing everyone in the magical world feared. Though the dreams did come, they were few and far between. His wolf didn't speak often, unlike Remus, Bill found himself rarely spoken to by the beast. Remus had told him originally that when the wolf did speak, which it did, it was never in words. Instead, the beast used visions, signs covered in blood or so primal anyone of sane mind would find their guts _churning_. This one, however, had not been filled with gore or images of death and despair. This one had stirred him in different manners, woken a heat within him that had made him feel..._odd_. He'd never caught himself dreaming of women.

Admittedly, Fleur had developed a strange scent after his change, a smell that he couldn't rightfully tell her to lose. How did you address the woman you loved, that had always believed she'd smelled wonderful, and tell her that she stunk? He couldn't rightly tell her that she and everyone in her family alike smelled of fish. Remus had laughed at him, telling him it was 'normal' to think Veela smelled awful, but love didn't have a smell. That was bollocks, for Remus had told him strictly that the reason he was so drawn to Tonks was because she didn't smell as though she were using scented soaps. Tonks did, in fact have quite the natural scent, even though it hadn't particularly appealed to Bill as being as _wonderful _as Remus had put it. To Bill, she'd only smelled like clover. Bill didn't technically enjoy the smell of clover.

That didn't explain his strange, semi erotic, dream. It didn't explain why the wolf had enjoyed the affections of the unknown woman. Rarely did he find anything, female or not, touching him to be enjoyable. Call it an added bonus to wolfdom. He desired solitude, to be alone and never touched, while family had been an exception, rarely did the women who did fawn over him get the chance to come near him. Bill's wolf was picky, a snob of sorts, complete opposite of him. It liked it's women intelligent and fiery, and most of the one night stands Bill had were never close to that description. Though some had been interesting, none clicked his interest like Remus had described. Not even Fleur had gotten him as riled up as when he'd first met her. Again, added bonus thanks to wolfdom. His wife had stunk the cottage up so much he'd had to leave the windows and such open during a thunderstorm.

This dream, this dream had sent sparked through him, made his heart race with anticipation. A need, a burning need that wouldn't be silenced until whoever the mysterious and wild looking woman was wrapped up in his embrace. He needed to find her, needed to match the scent of her to _someone_. She had to be out there somewhere, waiting for him, calling to him. Nature was different, Bill had learned, than the laws of the wizarding world. Nature claimed things, legal or not. The nature of the wolf, the need to run naked along the beach the days prior to the change, the need to howl, the need to scream, the need to reproduce and find someone who fit with you. The need for _blood_. That was another thing entirely. Bill had again, always had dreams that involved blood. Killing was what his wolf seemed to love, more so that Remus, who was sedated and submissive. Far too submissive for Bill's tolerance. Most of the time when they were around each other he'd found an unrelenting urge to beat Remus to a pulp. Even when he showed affection to his wife, it made Bill furious. Bill was an alpha. Bill withheld the rights to any female. Or so his wolf though.

He'd been without a woman for far too long, just the sight of Hermione the prior day had set him into a fit of frustration not even an hour in the shower relieved. Frustration that he couldn't stomach, couldn't believe. She had always been _off limits_. Too young, too close to his brother. Too far away. Always too far away. When Fleur had come into his life attraction to anyone had been reduced, the thought of other women was repulsing, for he was so in love with Fleur that his heart sang when she was in the same room as him. His beloved mother and sister's scorn towards her meant nothing. He was going to wed her. Even after the Fenrir attack on Hogwarts, she'd stayed by him. She'd been faithful, loyal, and loving. Fleur had been there. However his love and attraction faded quickly with his first shift, the need to turn his nose up in distaste ever present. It had mostly been her smell, it had gone from sweet to ungodly in such a short amount of time. Hermione, however, had smelled delectable.

Maybe it was due to the fact the rain had washed away all traces of scented soaps and lotions, leaving her smelling earthy. She'd smelled of parchment and wood, as if she'd been near a fire. Oak, if he were to give a specific type. Like the morning dew and mists of a forest freshly drenched the night before. It had been oh so _appetizing_. It had stirred the inner wolf, waking it in a way it hadn't ever been. Like it was howling in his head, running in his veins. Like it's eyes had opened up with a snap, demanding Bill do make a drastic decision. Which he had not. She was engaged to be married to his brother, or she had been. By the looks of things the prior day his brother and her relationship may have been a non existent thing. _Good_.

Bill wouldn't admit to it, but as he rose up out of bed, heading towards the shower. He needed a cold one, freeze away the heat that had filled him at the thought of his brother's ex fiance. That was taboo territory, and regardless of how much that wolf of his yearned to be around the girl he wasn't going to do that. Not to her, not after she'd just suffered whatever it was that she'd suffered. Yes, a cold shower would do him some good, then he could casually go and make sure that Hermione was okay, and maybe offer her a place to stay after the trip to the burrow. After all, Harry and Luna occupied a place at the burrow until there was a place suitable enough for Harry's standards, Ginny and Blaise had also taken up staying for a while, and Percy and his broad also taken roost as well as Charlie. Hermione would need a nice quiet place to recover, and shell cottage was nice and quiet. Yes, Bill would just have to invite her to stay.

…..

Humiliation, Hermione found, was a dish karma seemed to like to serve hot. Not only had she been dumped the previous day in a rather horrid manner, she'd been discovered in a mess by her thick ex's brother. _His older attractive brother_. She must have done something truly terrible to deserve what she was getting dished out, what she just didn't know. Maybe it was payback for that year at quidditch tryouts when she may have pushed the odds in Ron's favor just slightly. A regrettable action now, for the woman who had stole him away then had made a horrible comeback. Yes, this was indeed her being punished for that small act of kindness. If you could call it that.

But his _brother_? Of all the people to have found her it couldn't have been Sirius, or Remus, or for Christ sakes Harry! Anyone but a relative to that sodding git would have been preferred. She would have taken Draco Malfoy any day over the man who had came swooping to her rescue. Of course she would have suffered stabs and jabs for being in such a horrid state, but at least he wouldn't have gone to mummy the next day and told. _Gods, _what if he had gone to Molly already? Her situation the prior day had been so pathetic, standing out in the pouring rain shivering like a tossed out kitten. Oh Merlin if he'd told Molly going to the burrow now would be simply undoable.

The burrow may as well have been her version of hell now that things between Ronald were over. She could just hear Molly, shouting, whining, flying, and crying about the house. What would she say? Would she be viewed as a scarlet woman? Hermione's thoughts ran back towards the scandal between her and Harry, who Viktor had been brought into. That had been a painful time for Hermione, cast out by the woman who she'd seen as a secondary mother. There was no way in any universe she would allow that to happen again. The last time had taken Molly months to accept the fact that she wasn't really doing those things. Thank you, Rita Skeeter. The thought of Rita brought a new fear to Hermione's stomach_._ What if Rita had seen her with Bill? What would Molly think? _Oh Merlin_, if anything got out about Bill having to drag her to her room she'd never be able to show her face at the Weasley's again.

As if on cue, a snowy white owl perched upon the windowsill of her rented room, clad with a note and looking rather irritable at the fact it had to be out in what was the aftermath of a terrible storm. Hermione stared for a moment, dreading the awful letter which she knew would be within the envelope the bird held.

_Tap Tap Tap_!

Hedwigs feather's looked rather rustled as she began to fervently beat upon the window. How dare Hermione make her wait that long in the cold? Harry's owl, contrary to what everyone seemed to believe was not a kind bird. If anything she was as big a diva as Madam Maxime from Beuxbatons, maybe even worse depending on her mood. While she was always a loyal and doting pet for Harry, she had a knack for biting those who rubbed her particularly wrong.

Oh how Hermione wished the owl would just chuck it up for loss and leave, fly away and return the letter to Harry so she could avoid the situation all together. To hell with Gryffindor courage, she could address her problems later. In say, five years maybe? That should be plenty of time to clear the dust and let Molly forget all about her and Ron's failed relationship. After all, she would be the hardest to deal with, what with her incessant and unending hammering for grandchildren and Hermione to quit her job at the ministry. Not that it would be too much of a loss, her job hadn't gone anywhere, too many people of power enjoyed having slaves. Sickening as it was.

_BANG BANG BANG!_

Hedwig had now began to whack her head against the window, bobbing backwards each time as she'd dizzy herself doing it. Persistence was usually a virtue, however in this case Hermione wasn't sure if it benefitted the one who claimed it. After all, Hedwig was a vision of intelligence amongst owl kind, this image wasn't very becoming of her. Hermione had to hand it to Harry, there was nary an owl near or far that would go through this much trouble to deliver a simple letter, no matter how faithful they were. With a sigh, she opened the window with a soft click, allowing the bird to bounce within the rented room and proceed to chew her a new one in owl talk.

_Hoo, hoo hoo, hoo hoo hoo. _If owls could sound condescending, Hedwig was doing a very good job of it. Not many birds could remind Hermione so much of her mother just by looking at her and hooting at her in different tones to signify their distaste. Most of them would have just bitten her. She supposed Hedwig was far too classy for that, she would much prefer to scold you in her own manner and let you know you were simply a horrid person. _Hoo! Hoo-oo hoo!_

"Yes Hedwig, I understand." Hermione spoke, smile spreading across her face as she humored the old hen. Hedwig had lived through war, standing firm and protecting harry and _somehow _dodging a damned killing curse. Hedwig was much too precious to ignore, even when she was cussing up a storm in owl and telling you how terrible you were. As Hedwig lifted a taloned foot gracefully, flexing her black claws as she balanced to present the dreaded letter, Hermione wondered if it would be rude to decline. Probably, after all the owl had come all this way from the care of a very pregnant Luna, it would probably cause the poor bird to claw her eyes out.

"Well, not getting any younger I suppose." _this was it._


	4. Chapter 4

_Authors Note:_

_Hoping to get more into the Billmione in this one. You guys just blow me away. To be honest I have never seen myself as much of a writer, and the raves this story has achieved is just astonishing to me. You all keep me going with your constant reading and love, and I hope this story becomes every bit of what you all hope for. Thank you for your reading, your reviewing, and everything else you could possibly give. You don't know how much of a confidence builder it has been for me._

_Also thanks for being super patient with my **super** slow ass._

_A less important note, while Dom is in fact in the header image currently, it is important to note that the next one he will NOT be present. I don't picture dom as bill at all, while he is a sweetheart and a general ray of sunshine my bill is meant to be ridiculously good looking. Thus being the change in face claim for Bill. Thank you._

…_.._

_And when the gaze of the golden eyed beast landed upon her, she was sure she felt the weight of the earth press against her ribs, pushing the air from the space between her lungs, driving her mad with it's wicked tempting gaze. Oh what it would be like to be a **wolf**._

…_..._

_Have you read the daily prophet?_

_You probably should._

_Sincerely, Remus_

_Brilliant_. There were only so many things that Hermione cared about as far as news was concerned. When it came down to her actually needing a report, she preferred to keep away from the gossiping hags of the Daily Prophet. The stories within the paper with the ever moving visuals never truly stated anything within miles of being factual, and Hermione being who she was preferred facts over day to day gossip. Now however, it seemed the gossip somehow concerned Hermione.

It was unnerving, to be in the paper and not know what it was saying, or if she'd even need to go to the Burrow the next day. She could feel it in her bones that something wasn't right. It was Remus who had sent the letter, not Harry, and that in itself sent the warning alarms flying left and right. Why would Remus send her a letter? The pair rarely spoke to each other, outside of the usual 'hello' and maybe short conversation on the werewolf equality laws that she'd been so diligently working on. It wasn't easy with the wolves in London maintaining their ways of refusing the wolfsbane potion. There had been a case of a werewolf from America going rampant in muggle London, slaughtering a total of 10 people as well as causing a 30 car pile up. It had nearly done the magical world in, and it had put Hermione's efforts to a slamming halt. There had been an uproar for months, and her werewolf equality laws had been tossed in the trash.

It had been infuriating to her, not understanding what had gone wrong, and why an unchecked werewolf _from America _had gone on rampage. Contact with America had proved to be very futile, for the man in question hadn't even been registered, so there was no way possible to find out who had turned him or how he'd ended up in London in the first place. It had been a mess, and it still was a mess, with no signs of any improvement. After everything had taken place, the local werewolves in that area who ran a pub known as the 'slaughtered sheep', had neglected their wolfsbane potions. The ministry had tried to reach them but after a while they went completely off the map. _Gone_.

She had to figure out what was going on, whether her name had ended up in the paper due to the notorious Skeeter or not, if something else had happened in the world of wolves she'd found herself so entangled in. She hoped it was neither, and if it was the latter that there was some good news about the wolves.

_Knock, Knock. Knock, Knock, Knock._

She looked up, brow arching at the unfamiliar knock upon the door of the rented room. She hadn't called for room service, and the maid never put any effort into knocking at her room because Hermione _always _declined.. Hermione most certainly wasn't expecting any guests, and that caused her more discomfort. Moving passed Hedwig, she headed towards the night rest to grab her wand, feeling the heat of it warming to her hand obediently. While Hermione hadn't had any trouble since the first few weeks after the war, you never knew when the few underground followers of the dark lord could strike. After all, most of them were still _missing_. Though Fenrir Greyback's pack had been all but destroyed by the at the time not so troublesome _werewolves of London_, It did not mean there weren't others in hiding. _Hermione had found out only a week after the wizarding civil war had ended, that she was a top priority_.

Hermione drew closer to the door slowly, gazing through the peephole at the person who stood close to it. _William Weasley_. She had certainly not requested the council of her ex future brother in law, so seeing the scarred vision of a man made her head hurt. After all, he'd been the one to find her the previous day an absolute week just seemed to get more and more interesting as it went. The peaceful prewedding bliss she'd prayed for completely obliterated with each passing second. Her control over her life was steadily leaving her hands, and while she'd never believed in her divinations class (it was stupid) she believed the deceased professor would be in a rant over how the fates clearly had a plan for her. _Bollocks_. The only plan the fates had for her at this moment was to humiliate her beyond repair.

"I can hear you breathing you know." she jumped, Breathing halting for a moment as she gazed at the Mahogany door in front of her. She _wished _x-ray vision was a part of her magic, it would have made situations like this much easier. Laser vision would have been good too, in her situation with Ron and Lavender, at least. She could have melted all evidence of their existence from the world and obliviated all who knew them. What a joy it would have been. "I can also hear your _heartbeat_."

_Prick_. Hermione hesitated with opening the door a moment longer, partially afraid of what lie on the other side. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, and came face to face with the ridiculously tall werewolf in front of her. He wore a look of satisfaction upon his features, as if he were a cat that had gotten the cream far sooner than he'd hoped. His eyes glinted like a shiny piece of gold within the sun. _Odd, was the full moon that close?_ Hermione was certain it couldn't have been that close, she'd been so diligent with her Lunar calendar with everything in the magical world involving werewolves. Another reason was that, to Hermione's dismay, her cycle had lined up perfectly with the full moon. A rather annoying addition, seeing as all of her investigations were always hampered by severe cramps and a foul mood that could easily rival that of a lioness who'd missed dinner.

"William, to what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, rocking from her toes to her heel, eyes never meeting his. She was afraid of what she'd find there. Hermione wondered just how _rude _it would be to send him away, considering the situation and which he'd found her in. It wouldn't have been too impolite to send him off if she feigned still being under the weather. He smiled sweetly at her, making her innards twist in an odd way that she couldn't quite discern. She took a moment to look at him, clearly take in the man before her. It'd been a while since they'd seen each other, the last time being during the battle of Hogwarts. Bill had denied invitation to the wedding, something that had set Molly on a rampage and Ron grumbling on like the mopey bastard he tended to be. When asked for a reason he'd promptly replied '_Just don't feel like attending anymore weddings for a while.'_ Molly had then proceeded to screech into several howler about how inconsiderate he was being. Hermione hadn't really minded at the time. She hadn't wanted to attend the wedding _either_. Bill cleared his throat, drawing Hermione back to the current place and time, sweet smile never leaving his face. She couldn't help but notice how it looked absolutely ridiculous.

"Ah, forgive me if I am intruding, but I wanted to be sure you were doing well." he nodded, the high ponytail bobbing back and forth as he did so. It still amazed Hermione that he was so easily able to keep his hair long with Molly's insistence that long hair was for _women_, not men. Hermione never argued over the fact, no matter how old worldly it was. She supposed part of the reason for his hair being left be was the fact he and Charlie had picked randomly one day to admit to their bisexuality. While it didn't bother anyone in the Weasley family (another reason Hermione adored them) there had indeed been some grumblings from Percy and Ron. It was to be expected, of all the family those two seemed to be the most biased about the roles of man and woman. "Would it be alright, perhaps, if I came in?" he leaned forward slightly, trying to be more eye level with her. Hermione had read about this, something about werewolves liking to wriggle their way into the minds of others by eye contact. Exerting their dominance through eyesight.

It worked, for Hermione stepped out of the way and allowed the wolf to enter her rented room. He smiled once more, stepping through the door and glancing around the room as if it were somewhat different than his. As far as Hermione had seen, the rooms were all the same, yet Bill took her's in as if it were a painting. She watched his back heave as he inhaled deeply taking in the scent of it as if to root out anything astray. Hermione shivered. It was strange to see Bill so close to the full moon, he seemed _different_. As if he weren't truly there, despite the gentlemanly nature he continued to uphold.

"Did you receive a letter from Remus?" she started, the question taking her off guard. Could he actually smell that well? Hermione fumbled, opening her mouth and closing it. It was hard talking to a werewolf, there were so many non-human things they did that changed the essence of a conversation completely. "He owled me this morning, said he was going to inform you of some things." Bill turned towards her, eyes seeming to shimmer with something she didn't understand, something she probably never would understand. Hermione offered a nod, words not coming to her throat.

"You should do more reading." she gaped at him, eyes widening as her brow furrowed in insult. No one had **ever **told Hermione Jean Granger to _read more_. She didn't need to read more, she'd read plenty. She did read plenty. Everyday, seven days a week, and at least 13 hours a day.

"Excuse me?" she hadn't intended for the octave of her voice to be so shrill, but judging by the way the man in front of her cringed she hadn't really succeeded in keeping any hint of anger from it. "I do _**plenty **_of reading thank you."

"On _werewolves_. More reading-on _werewolves_." he chuckled, turning to look at her. Hedwig took this time to fly over to the man's shoulder, cooing at him like a mother and rubbing against him affectionately. Hermione had indeed read about this in one of the books. Normal and magical animals either loved werewolves, or feared them. "I didn't mean you hadn't read anything on us, just that you may want to broaden your knowledge." he nodded with finality, satisfied that his answer wouldn't set her off too much.

"Oh well I-" she stopped, shrugging and looking at him apologetically. This may or may not have been why Hermione had only been with few men over the years. Her feminality was far too aggressive for most, and many didn't like when their women were smarter than them. For some reason, Bill seemed unaffected by her fiery ways. "I apologize."

"Don't." Bill responded shortly, smile that gleamed to his golden eyes in place. He moved closer, pulling something from his back pocket and offering it to her. It was a pendant you'd clip to your coat, and odd gift, especially considering the circumstances. "Remus told me to offer you one, and since I haven't one ordered, I'll lend you Fleur's old one." he placed the rose gold lamb with sapphire eyes. "Consider it a public invitation to the next 'pack' meeting we hold. Keep in mind, Lavender will probably be present."

Hermione looked from the pendant, that of which had originally been Fleur's, to Bill with wide eyes and lips that longed to protest the offering. She had done nothing to deserve acceptance within to a pack meeting, she'd barely spoken to Bill and Remus once. It didn't seem right. "William I can't possibly-"

"Remus insists." he cut her off, hanging Hedwig off to the coat holder with ease. "You've been the one in charge of the werewolf investigation for months now, we feel we should induct you into our own _private _investigation as well." he walked passed her, leaning in towards her ear as he did. "After all, you'll learn more from actual wolves than you will the men who study them." He opened the door, grin upon his lips as he turned back towards Hermione. She faltered again, mouth flapping as she tried to find a response that would be appropriate.

"Also, I expect you to accompany me _personally _to the Burrow tomorrow. Rustle mum's feathers a bit more eh?" and with that, the door snapped shut behind him, and left Hermione hopelessly and utterly baffled.

And, to her dismay, cramping. _Mother nature be damned_.


End file.
